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I shake my head like I’m trying to figure out a hard math problem. “He does what?”
“He meets a girl and stays with her for cuffing season every single year. It’s his thing. He makes them sign the contract, Savannah. Jesus, does the guy’s dick taste like chocolate or something?”
I want to throw up. Memories of the night at the Chinese restaurant fill my head. How could I have missed it? The contract that looked like it was professionally written. The numbers in his phone that were years.
Dear God, those are his cuffing partners classified by years.
My stomach roils, and my face crinkles, the pain of learning I wasn’t his only cuffing partner reignites in my chest. He lied when we made up from that argument. I’m not special at all. That contract wasn’t just made the night before we had our first date. My body can’t decide between grief and rage. Both feelings slip through my brain, battling for dominance. Do I confront him? Do I walk down the hall and kick him in the dick before pushing him out the door?
“You’re saying he had the same arrangement with Sally’s daughter and other women?” My voice cracks, and Mom frowns. “Were you expecting me to be happy about this knowledge?”
She tucks a stray piece of her hair back, and I want to pull it out of her head simply for being the messenger. “Honey, I thought you knew, and I assumed it would make you feel better that Sally’s daughter was sad when he left. You’re not the only one he’s done this to.”
“How would that make me feel better?”
“Come on, Savannah. We both know you dated him to keep me out of your personal life and to pay your school for the next year. I’m not the bad guy here. I thought you’d be hurt, so I brought you pizza and a fat check.”
“What?” Wilder asks behind me. I turn and find him with his hands braced on each side of the doorframe. His brow crinkles, and his eyes explore my face like he’s never seen me before. “What’s this about a check?”
I wipe the tears that have spilled down my face and round my kitchen counter in a few steps. “Do you date a new woman every year, make them sign that stupid contract, and break up on February fifteenth at noon?”
“Did your mom pay you to be my girlfriend?”
“I asked you a question, damn it!” I yell.
My mother jumps, and Wilder flexes his jaw, probably vacillating between the possible embarrassment of answering my question and anger at learning I got paid to date him. He throws his duffle bag and tent behind him to the entryway, gives me a wounded look, and turns to the door.
“Are you going to leave like this?” I ask, following him to the door. Why won’t I just let him leave? He obviously doesn’t care about me. Did he ever care about any of us? “Wilder!” I yell, grabbing his wrist and spinning him around. Somewhere behind me, I feel my mother’s presence, but I can only focus on him. “Tell me the truth! Am I just a number to you?”
“Oh, we’re going to talk about numbers, are we?” he mocks. “Let’s talk about numbers.” He nods to Mom and scowls. “How much did Heather pay you to have a boyfriend?”
“It wasn’t like that, and you know it.”
“I don’t know, Savannah, but I kind of want to know how much I’m worth. Was it a hundred bucks? A thousand? Ten thousand. Come on, it’s important to my self-esteem to know how much my dick is worth to your bank account.”
“Don’t be crass.”
“Did you or did you not get paid to fuck me? Is that what all this was about? You learning to fuck like a porn star and liven up your pathetic life?”
I shake with a mixture of rage and fear. I want to slap the evil grin right off his face, and I stuff my hands in my sweatpants to keep from raising my hand to him. More tears run down my cheeks, and he watches them, his eyes focusing on the water trail on my face. A flicker of sadness is there for a moment, and his hand moves a fraction of an inch, like he wants to wipe my face.
He stops himself and looks at the floor. “Answer the question. Did your mom pay you to be with me?”
Silence fills the hallway, and it feels odd, like his question has sucked the air out of the room. I focus on breathing. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.
“That deal was worked out before I met you to help me pay for school. Before I got to know you.”
Hurt crosses his face for a moment, but he laughs. It’s not his usual boyish laugh, and it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s almost evil in its tone. Maniacal. He digs his palms into his eyes, wiping them like he can’t believe this is happening.
“Do you know what you are?” he asks, and I stare at him. Somehow, I know what he’s going to say before he says it, and I grit my teeth, pushing air through my nostrils like an enraged bull.
“Do not go there,” I shout, pushing my index finger into his face.
“You’re a hooker! I fucked a hooker.”
He went there.
“How dare you?”
